Olympic

a poem of our national parks

We drive all sunny day on treelined roads
Around the Sound, across the Narrows, north
Then west until horizon's edge. We park.

It's three miles to the coast, to beaches strewn
With driftwood snags—like bleached behemoth bones—
Among the blackened boulders, pebbled sand.
It's three miles through the woods on boardwalks slick
And thick with moss that's hidden from the sun
And fed an endless drip of water through
The boughs of fir and hemlock, through the ferns
That spring from loamy soil in perfect coils,
Unfurling upwards to an unseen sky.

The forest ends abruptly. There, where waves
Of winter strip all living matter, wash
It from the sand to nourish frigid fish.
And there we watch the melting sun go down,
Descending, sizzling, dropping in the drink.
We are the last to see it set, far west.

Confronted by the dusk, we make our camp:
We pitch the tent, and eat, then hang our packs
Among the trees, beyond the curious reach
Of bears that stalk the night like ancient shades.
The wind, no longer muted by the day,
Roars in and brings with it a shroud of cloud
To block the silver song of shooting stars.
The braying barks of seals drift through the dark;
Inane, incessant, otherworldly chants.
As sleep descends, they sound like dogs, then men
—No longer grounded. Spirits lost at sea.

At dawn, the morning mist engulfs the strand.
We break our camp and pack up cold and damp,
While deerheads—disembodied in the fog—
Arrest and bob and turn with twitching ears.
To them we strangers are not friend or foe;
Just happenstance, the shifting of the sand.

It's three miles down the coast, past tidal pools
And over barnacles that crackle crunch
Beneath our boots. We stop to study stones
That bear the carvings of diminished tribes:
Faint images of whales and faces, fish
And sailing ships and enigmatic shapes.
The tide slides in to lap the crooked cliffs
Just as we, running, reach the second beach.

It's three miles back, another boardwalk path.
The hollow sound of drumming, footsteps thump
A slower pace upon the riftsawn planks.